Another Kind Of Hurricane Part 8

Zavion couldnt help smiling.

The clowns bowed. "Thank you, thank you," said Skeet.

"Tip jar is by the door on your way out," said Enzo.

"Dont you let these fools steal your money, Zavion, honey," said Ms. Cyn. She clucked her tongue and shook her head as she bent over her knitting again.

Steal.

The word punctured the corners of Zavions upturned mouth like a pin.

The chocolate bars bounced around in his head like those apples. He should pay back what he owed Luna Market. He knew where it was.

But how?

Mamas story came to him then. Or his question. The question he asked every time she told him the story. Shed be at the edge of his bed, pulling the blanket to his chin. Hed sit up fast, the blanket falling, his nose an inch away from her nose.

"How?" hed demand. "How does a mountain travel from one place to another? How is that possible?"

"Zavion, honey-"

Zavions head snapped up. He opened his eyes. He hadnt even known they were closed. Had he been talking out loud? Enzo, Skeet, and Tavius sat on the counters around the kitchen and Ms. Cyn still sat at the table, her knitting needles click-clacking, her eyes s.h.i.+ning again.

"Are you okay?" she said.

I will never be okay, thought Zavion.

"Are you kidding?" said Enzo. "No one in this house is okay."

"Especially you," said Tavius, slapping Enzo on the back.

"Yeah, you never were," said Skeet.

They laughed, and Zavion appreciated the s.h.i.+ft of focus.

How would anything ever be okay again?

How could he pay back the market?

He didnt know, but he knew he had to figure it out. If he could just pay back the money for the chocolate bars, maybe he could make this whole hurricane mess go away.

The sound of laughter interrupted Zavions thoughts. Ms. Cyns head was thrown back as she laughed, her laughter like bread dough, like a mountain, rising into the air.

chapter 18.

HENRY.

Henry sat at the top of the driveway and threw a rubber ball for Brae, who raced down the hill chasing it. How could Mom have done that? How could he have let it happen? How could the marble be gone?

Before that night on the mountain, Henry and Wayne had rules for exchanging the marble. They werent official or anything. They werent written down and hung up in their bedrooms. But they were rules that they just knew, and they seemed to work.

The marble worked.

Henrys football team rarely lost a game, and when they did it was because of Nopie and his stupid b.u.t.terfingers. Apple pie fingers. And Waynes soccer and baseball teams never lost. There was something about accepting the marble, and then holding it, feeling its smooth circle go round and round and round that inspired a sense of invincibility in Henry. He didnt even have to think about feeling invincible. It wasnt a thought. It just was. It was hope and bravery and confidence all rolled together just like he rolled the marble in his hand.

It was true that he found the marble the day he and Mom moved into their house. After he had picked his room, he found it on the windowsill. And it was also true that he met Wayne that same afternoon. Everyone knew those parts of the story. What they didnt know was the first part. The part about Henry getting up early in the morning, that morning he and Mom moved, and Henry feeling so heavy with sadness that he laid himself down in the driveway in front of the car and wouldnt get up. Not for breakfast, his last scrambled-egg breakfast in the only house he had ever known, not to play in the tree house his father had built, and not even when Mom finally got into the car and turned it on. She had to lift him up kicking and screaming, hold him back against the seat of the car with her elbow while she wrestled with his seat belt. She surprised him with a bag of cheese puffs for the ride, but even his favorite food didnt make him feel better.

Henry remembered believing it was the end of the world. What did he know? He was only four years old. He also remembered grabbing onto one idea and squeezing it until it was blue. If there was a sign at the new house, then he knew he would live beyond that last day in the old brown house.

So he had walked upstairs, picked his new room, and there it had been. Right on the windowsill.

The marble.

And now it was gone.

The thought made Henry want to lie down again, this time in front of the car or pickup or eighteen-wheeler or whatever had driven off with the marble. He lay down in his driveway instead, beside Brae, who was chewing on the rubber ball.

"What am I going to do?" he asked Brae. Brae leaned in to sniff Henrys nose. "Do you smell an idea?" said Henry, rubbing Brae under the chin. "Cause I dont feel anything cooking in here-" He tapped the side of his head. Cooking made Henry think of Nopie and his stupid apple pie, and he said, "Stupid!" out loud and then he said, "Oh, not you, Brae! Never you! Youre the smartest dog-cow I know-" He sat up, took the ball, put his hands inside his sweats.h.i.+rt pocket. "Which hand?" he said. Brae sniffed Henry again, this time around his pocket, and nudged Henrys left hand. "Right!" Henry said. "Youre right every time!" He threw the ball again and watched Brae as he raced down the driveway.

Suddenly, his brain was racing too.

Suddenly, his brain was an oven and he was cooking up an idea fast.

If Brae could chase a ball, why couldnt Henry chase a marble?

The marble was in New Orleans.

Jake was going to New Orleans.

Henry could hitch a ride with Jake and find his marble.

This was a triple-decker cake of an idea!

Brae loped back up the driveway and dropped the ball at Henrys feet. He licked Henry. "Do I taste sweet, Brae?" said Henry. "Cake sweet?"

And right there at the top of the driveway, under Mount Mansfield, Henry felt the heat of a tiny bit of hope.

"Ill ask Mom if I can go," said Henry. "Sh.e.l.l let me go." He paused. "No, she wont. Shoot." He paused again. The heat-spark flickered dramatically. Hope, no hope, hope, no hope. "What am I going to do, Brae? I need to get that marble. But how? What would Wayne do?" Brae stared into Henrys eyes. "Youve got the answer, dont you? What is it?" Henry stood up fast, almost knocking Brae in the nose. "Right! Hed sneak onto the truck! Thats what hed do. And thats what Im gonna do." He took a deep breath. "Who am I kidding? I cant sneak onto Jakes truck." He looked into Braes eyes again. "Okay, yeah, youre right. Im just going to have to talk to Jake. Im going to have to get Jake to convince Mom that I can go."

With that, Henry turned up the heat on his cake, on his triple-decker, perfect cake of an idea.

marble journey part II

CORA KRISHNASWAMI.

Marble cake! That was it! She couldnt wait to go to the kitchen in the back of the Salvation Army and bake it.

Cora wanted to try making a marble cake with three flavors swirled together. The usual marble cake was two. Chocolate and vanilla. But that was a little too ordinary for the occasion, Cora thought. Two ordinary. Cora laughed at the joke inside her head.

"Pardon?" The woman at the counter looked up from writing her check.

"Hmmmm? Oh, no, nothing-something I just thought of-" Cora unclipped her hair and let it fall across her shoulders.

Like toilet paper tucked in the waistband of a pair of blue jeans, Cora always managed to drag embarra.s.sing stuff out into the public. She couldnt seem to keep the roll of thoughts she had from spilling out of her mouth.

"Sorry," she said. "I didnt even know I laughed out loud."

This time it wasnt so bad. Just a random laugh. But people were sensitive these days. Cora knew that. Theyd been through so much-too much-and there was nothing funny about any of it. She was lucky. Her small house had been spared. But not her neighbors. His house sat lower than hers and it got flooded even when hers did not.

"Well, its important to find something to laugh about," said the woman. She picked up her shopping bag from the counter.

"Yes," agreed Cora. The woman was generous. She could have been put off by Coras laugh. Her neighbor could have been put off by her too. If he had been able to hear her over the rain and wind. Of course she had blurted out that she was queen of the mountain as she stood on her front porch as the rain and wind came down. She still didnt know why she had said that. She had stepped outside for just a moment and was overcome by the raging battle taking place all around her little house. Knives of rain clattering down. The shriek of the wind. And she was, on her covered porch, just above it all. She had felt a sense of relief, and a weird thrill, and before she knew it, this queen thing had escaped from her mouth.

Just half a second later, she turned her head and saw her neighbor on his roof, water pouring out of his downstairs front window. Cora had seen him on the roof plenty of times before-he hung out up there with his daughter sometimes, but mostly with two other men. His brothers. They came over to her neighbors house and sang up there a lot, and she loved to listen to them.

"Do you have any children?" Cora asked the woman.

"Yes," said the woman. "Why?"

"We just got a big donation from Vermont," said Cora. "I havent gone through all of it, but there are some great kids clothes." She indicated a pile on the side counter. "Take a look. Someone is about to come by and take them to Baton Rouge."

The woman walked to the clothes and thumbed through a stack. She pulled a pair of blue jeans from the middle and unfolded them. "These look almost new," she said.

Cora nodded.

"But theyre too long for my son." She began to fold them again.

"Oh, Ill do that," said Cora. She took the jeans from the woman.

"I should get home to him," said the woman. "Im starting to let him stay home alone, but only for an hour or so at a time."

"How old is he?" asked Cora.

"Ten," said the woman.

"Sort of an in-between age, huh? A little too young to stay home alone, but also a little too old to need supervision?" asked Cora.

"Yes, exactly." The woman began to walk toward the door. "Ill be back," she said. "Im so glad youre open."

"What do you think of chocolate, peanut b.u.t.ter, cinnamon cake?" Cora blurted out.

"It sounds delicious," said the woman.

"Oh good. To me too," said Cora. "Three cheers for the generator! Im trying to make a marble cake with three flavors. Three cheers for three flavors!"

"Sounds complicated."

"Its for three things, so I thought three flavors would be a nice touch."

The woman smiled.

"Thing One: I hope that you-oh, not you"-Cora pointed at the woman-"you, my neighbor, move back home. Thing Two: I love listening to you and your trio sing. And Thing Three: Im sorry for what I said out there in the hurricane-" The words tumbled out of Coras mouth.

The woman stared at her.

Cora shook her head. She had gone and done it again. Toilet paper in the waist of the jeans, right there in public. She twisted her hair back into a bun and clipped it into place. She could at least keep her hair neat.

She looked down at the blue jeans in her hands and slowly finished folding them. By the time she looked up, maybe the woman would be gone.

chapter 19.

ZAVION.